


It Was A Process

by iamkathastrophe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Crobby - Freeform, Feelings, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, admitting feeligns, feeling talk, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamkathastrophe/pseuds/iamkathastrophe
Summary: Bobby Singer takes some time to reflect on his relationship with one particular demon.





	It Was A Process

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a short ficlet I wrote for a friend; I hope you will enjoy nevertheless.   
> You can find me on https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iamkathastrophe

As Bobby reflected on it at some point in his life, he was unable to fish how it all started from the deep and dark ocean of his memories. If asked, he probably wouldn’t even be able to say what colour said memory had. Was it black and red, like the one showing him how Rufus died? Or was it white and yellow, just like this one stupid one playing Sam and Dean arguing over a movie over beer and popcorn on replay? Bobby wouldn’t be able to say.

            One of the reasons why, he pondered, must be the fact that this wasn’t one solid memory in the first place. It’s not like that bastard demon just appeared on his doorstep one day and said: “look, Singer, I will be your new best friend now”. No, it was a process. A weird, messed-up, slow process.

            There are many nights that one would call rough in a hunter’s life, but the first time Crowley came into his house, Bobby was just taking a breath about a really, really hard hunt. One could think that after years and years of hunting, Bobby would get used to seeing dead. But never children. Seeing dead children always hit the old hunter hard.

            It was also the middle of a goddamn apocalypse, and Crowley was a valuable informator, so Bobby agreed on taking off some of the protections from the house so at least the King of the Crossroads could walk in. And he did, appeared in the middle of the room, just like that, in his ridiculously expensive suit and a cocky grin that faded surprisingly quickly. Bobby remembers, very clearly, that there was not even one word spoken that evening. Bobby just drank, and Crowley just kept refilling his glass. He passed out around four in the morning, and when he woke up, Crowley was already gone.

            The next time the demon appeared, Bobby was out by the house, trying to repair his car. The old thing was slowly falling apart, but the hunter just couldn’t bring himself to letting it rust when he can still repair it. Crowley came around with some sort of information, but Bobby failed to remember what exactly that was. All he knows that before he knew what’s happening, he was snickering at Crowley’s snarky joke as if he wasn’t a goddamn demon. It felt good.

            After that, what Bobby vividly remembers as it was one of his most odd memories at the time, was the time when Bobby came home from a shop to a cooked dinner. It was absurd at the time, almost surreal, to see Crowley wearing an apron and stirring some sort of fancy sauce in one of, what the hunter also remembers well, the pans that were dirty when he was leaving. Crowley explained himself saying that he got tired of waiting, so with nothing else to do, he cleaned the dishes and cooked dinner. It was odd, but Bobby didn’t protest.

            And then he didn’t question Crowley appearing out of nowhere anymore. He didn’t question it when the demon just casually swung by for a drink, he didn’t question when Crowley lingered with leaving after bringing some information, he didn’t question seeing the demon cook or clean or just sit around in his own house. Somehow… somehow it became a routine, something just as present and normal as seeing the books piling up in the living room.

            Bobby didn’t think much of it, or rather, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to get too far in this train of thought, too afraid of what he might find on the last station. He just accepted Crowley’s presence, his cooking and cleaning and reading books and joking around. Eventually, Bobby got used to having Crowley around more often than not, and honestly, the times when Crowley was away began to feel… lonely. 

            Not that Bobby wasn’t used to being alone, no. Robert Steven Singer was alone most of his life, even when he was married he would still spend a huge majority of his time on his own, yet somehow now, without that cursed demon, the house seemed empty. Too empty. 

            And that… that’s it. Not a single memory, not a single event but a whole line, a parade of different colours and a long, very long path that’s formed, well, formed something strange. That formed a bond between a hunter and a demon, a goddamn King of the Crossroads. Was it wrong? It sure did feel like this. But only at times, only when Crowley wasn’t there to keep his mind busy. Those thoughts, that all of it is wrong, only appeared when Bobby was left with too much of free time on his hands.

            He never told Sam and Dean. He just couldn’t bring himself to it, to look his boys in the eyes and tell him that he’s formed a… a thing, a bond, a whatever-you-want-to-call-it with Crowley. Bobby just knew that he taught them well enough to only see a demon for being a demon, not for what’s more. And, well that’s exactly what’s happened to Bobby. He began to see more to Crowley, not just a demon.

            It was a long time, but the thoughts that it’s wrong still appear in Bobby’s head. Does this thing make him happier than usual? Yeah, it sure as hell does. And if does make him a hella lot less miserable, and no harm comes out of it, why should bother himself with these thoughts?

_             Screw that _ , the hunter thinks, pressing a scruffy kiss to Crowley’s forehead, the demon wrapped around him tightly. Then he went back to sleep. Just screw that. 


End file.
